


Right Back Where We Started From

by nevercomestheday



Category: Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: 1990s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Established Relationship, M/M, Sparley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and David have a fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Back Where We Started From

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at titles. I wrote this fic after watching the unedited version of the Spade in America where Chris comes on as Newt Gingrich (season 21). (The version on Yahoo Screen has the music edited out for copyright reasons, lame.) The song they play at the beginning is Reunited (Peaches & Herb) and the song they play at the end is Right Back Where We Started From (Maxine Nightingale). Basically, it was a big mushy ball of ship feels thrown in my face! Anyway, I hope you like this story. =)

David looked down at his answering machine. The little red light was blinking, and with each little blink, he felt his stomach knot up.

 

It had been about a week since he and Chris had spoken, the longest they'd gone since his stint in rehab. There had been a fight, if you could even call it that. It was more like an explosion, one that had been building up for at least two weeks.

It was the end of season 20, and ratings were in the toilet. Saturday Night Live was being butchered in every magazine with a review column. It was an off year for everyone- the new cast members weren't quite working out, and several heavy-hitters had left at the close of the season before. Poor Farley and Sandler were the ones being criticized the most, though they were the only ones consistently getting laughs every week.

Everyone was on edge; everyone was afraid of the show being canceled. Chris wasn't only worrying about that, but he was also terrified of being hated. He didn't want to kill his favorite show, he didn't want America to hate him, and he didn't want to let his coworkers and friends down.

He never intentionally hurt David, but as things got harder for Chris, the anger and frustration he felt was taken out on him. David was feeling immense pressure, too, and soon they yelled and shouted at each other more than they laughed or smiled together.

Finally, on the first Saturday of their two-week vacation, the fuse went off. David's apartment became a battlefield.

“Why do you always have to knock everything over?! You're such a bull in a china shop!” David shouted when Chris bumped into the coffee table and spilled a dish of candy.

“Relax, Susie Homemaker, I'm cleaning up your precious little candies and your prissy little dish,” he growled back.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“You know what my problem is!”

“Say it!”

“You're my problem! You won't leave me alone! Everything I do is Chris this, Chris that, 'oh Chris, you never listen to my problems! You never listen to me anymore! Wah wah wah!' Stupid little bitch,” he whined.

“You want space? I'll give you space!”

“I don't want space, I just want someone who won't jump down my throat about every little thing!”

“Why don't you go over to Sandler then?!” David instantly regretted saying those words.

“You know what? You know fucking what? I will! You want me to go, I will!” He made his way to the door, shaking his head angrily.

“Chris, wait-” David began, but he was already gone.

 

For three days, David just sat alone at home. All he wanted to do was call, but he was still hurt, and he didn't know what to say. He was afraid- afraid that Chris was still angry, afraid that when he said he'd go, he meant forever. Things had been left in a state of limbo, and David was scared to find out which side he was on. He couldn't figure out which was worse, the suspense or the loneliness.

Chris spend the majority of the first couple of days eating and sleeping, trying not to think about David and their fight. Somehow, no matter what he was doing, or eating, or watching on TV, he always found himself thinking about it. What if David really wanted him to leave? What if he meant what he said about giving Chris space? It made him nauseous.

 

It was 11:30pm on that cool April night, the last Friday of break. David's window was open and the apartment had a nice breeze flowing through it.

He'd just gotten home from a lonesome walk through the neighborhood. He'd gone to clear his head, but he just came home foggier. That's when he noticed the answering machine light.

Suddenly, he didn't care if he was right or wrong. He didn't care if Chris had been nasty to him lately. He only cared that their relationship was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. He cared how happy they'd been these past few years, how Chris had always been there for him, how much he would miss him if... he couldn't bring himself to even think it.

In that moment, there was no chance the message was from anyone else, because it had to be Chris. It just had to be. He inhaled sharply and pressed play.

 _Click-click shhhhh_   “Hey, Dave, it's me. Listen, I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot. I didn't... I didn't mean any of that nasty stuff I said. Hell, I've been terrible to you lately. Things have been so hard, with the show and all... No. There's no excuse. I'm so sorry, Davey. You know I don't think any of those things I said are true. Do, uh... I... Please forgive me. Please don't hate me. Please don't give up on me. Oh god... Call me back when you can, I mean, if you want... Gah...” _shhhhhh click-click_

David wiped his eyes and sniffed. He stood for a moment, not so much stunned as relieved, and then dashed to the door. He grabbed his keys and his wallet, pulled his shoes and jacket on, and started walking.

About three blocks in, his walk became a run. His mind was racing.

 _I love him so much, I'm such an idiot, I hope he forgives me._ He repeated it over and over in his head. Headlights passed next to him, lights turned off in the apartments above him, and he kept running.

He finally approached Chris's building and stopped by the buzzer to catch his breath. As soon as he stopped panting, he pressed the button next to Chris's number.

“Yeah?” Chris's voice was distorted by the old wiring of the intercom.

“It's David.”

_bzzzzzzzzzzzzz_

 

Chris paced around a little bit and waited for David to come up the steps. He opened the chain at the first knock, pulling the door open while David's hand was still in a fist.

“Hey, David... I'm so-” Chris was cut off by David practically tackling him. Chris hugged him back as tightly as he could, feeling David's head nuzzle into his shoulder.

“You're sorry, I'm sorry, we've both been horrible lately. Things have sucked at work. We just have to not take it out on each other.” David sighed and kissed his partner's lips. Chris kissed back, relieved.

“So,” Chris pulled back, “We're not... I mean, you don't...”

“Not even a little bit.”

“And that bit about Sandler... If you're jealous, or uncomfortable, or something... I can change things, I really can.”

“Really, it's not even that. I was just... I was looking for something to throw at you. I was being an ass.”

“So you still love me?” Chris put on a silly face.

David stuck his tongue out. “More than anything, stupid.”

“Say it!” he whined like a child.

“Fine, fine! I love you.”

“Oh good.”

David cleared his throat.

“What?”

“No love for Davey?”

“I love you too, Dave.” Chris leaned back in towards his boyfriend and kissed him once more.

 

 


End file.
